


the way you keep your hands so still

by saveourtiredhearts



Series: and it's probable that i like the thrill [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dubious Consent, Gunplay, M/M, Painplay, Violence, You Have Been Warned, alternate universe - freeform, dark bucky barnes, i really don't know how else to warn, if you don't like dark stuff you will not like this, not a happy story AT ALL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saveourtiredhearts/pseuds/saveourtiredhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom on a warm Saturday afternoon.<br/>Steve doesn't say a word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way you keep your hands so still

**Author's Note:**

> Is it a modern AU? A post-WWII AU? Who knows? I don't.

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom on a warm Saturday afternoon.

It's new, matte black and shiny, and Bucky swings it in one hand in the same casual manner he throws the apples he steals; up and down. Up and down.

Steve is in bed, lying naked on white sheets, and he looks up as Bucky enters the bedroom. He doesn't say a word.

Bucky swings the gun around one finger, then grabs it so he's holding it properly. He puts his finger on the trigger.

Pulls.

The gun makes an odd clicking noise, and Bucky laughs, delighted. "Bam," he says, and then throws the gun aside, letting it clatter to the floor. It skids across the wood and Bucky pops up the top button of his shirt.

"C'mon, baby," he says, licking his lips. Steve gives a cracked smile in return.

 

It starts like this:

One evening, Steve gets home and Bucky's waiting by the front door. Steve's got glitter in his hair from the club, and he knows Bucky can smell the reek of sex on him. 

Bucky's eyes latch onto his bruised knuckles. He gets up from his seat, comes over, looks at Steve.

Steve doesn't move.

Bucky lowers his head down to lap at Steve's fingers. Then, he bites down gently. 

The knuckle of Steve's middle finger cracks, and Bucky looks up with red smeared on his upper lip. He smiles.

Steve--

It starts like this:

One morning Bucky throws a punch and it connects and instead of apologizing, Bucky's eyes go dark. Steve stands there, clutching his bleeding nose, gasping, but he doesn't do anything either. He stands, and stares across the distance to Bucky.

There's not a sound in their apartment, just the noise of kids out in the snow streaming through the slightly opened window.

Steve carefully, slowly, drops his hand from his nose. Lets the blood drip out of the pool in his palm, hears it splatter on the floor. It falls down his chin similarly, dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

Bucky steps forward and--

It starts like this:

One day Steve gets beat up in an alley and he goes home to his mom only his mom isn't there. And his dad is dead, so he goes to Bucky's, climbing up the fire escape with a terrible pain in his chest and the gash on his cheek bleeding freely.

Bucky lets him in through the window, gathers him in his arms and brings Steve into the bathroom. He feels Steve's ribs, rushes out, comes back with an icepack.

"Shit, Steve," he says, and once Steve's holding the ice pack, he lets the fingers of his right hand drift to the cut on Steve's cheek.

The world freezes and Bucky probes at the split skin. Steve watches the two of them in the mirror. Then, helplessly, lets his gaze drift to Bucky's red lips.

Bucky catches him staring. He drags a finger slowly over the gash, painting blood across Steve's cheek.

Bucky leans in, like he's going to take a closer look.

Instead, he kisses Steve.

Bucky, Steve learns, likes to bite. Steve has marks down his legs and chest that he'll carry for at least a week. Then they'll fade, and his skin will be pale and smooth, just like usual.

Until next time, when--

 

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom on a chilly Sunday afternoon, that time of the year you can almost taste summer dissolving into fall.

This time, Steve's not in the bedroom, or at work. He's getting beat up by a guy who didn't seem to know what the word "No" meant and he stumbles home with his shirt almost in tatters because the guy had a switchblade.

Steve walks into the bedroom, and Bucky's on the bed, and the gun is in his hands, and Bucky is naked, and the gun is pointed right at Steve's crotch.

Everything freezes. Bucky slides his finger down to touch the trigger, slides the gun up to aim at the space right between Steve's eyes.

"Bam," says Bucky softly, before he sets the gun down on the bedside table.

Steve doesn't let himself relax.

Bucky stands up. Bucky walks over. Bucky--

Bucky's the most gorgeous man Steve's ever known.

"Sometimes I think you like getting punched," Bucky says softly. He traces the bleeding lines on Steve's stomach, none of them deep enough to provoke much worry. Bucky manages to find the deepest one, and grabs at the flap of skin, tugs a bit. Steve bits down on a gasp.

_You like it when I get punched,_ is what he doesn't say. Instead, he slips to his knees, lets Bucky tug at his skin, pull the flesh up, up--

 

"C'mon baby," says Bucky. "Again?"

_I just want you to notice me,_ Steve doesn't say as Bucky walks toward him, to where he's curled up in the alleyway, next to the brick wall that marks the place as a dead end.  _I just want you, I want you--_

Instead, he groans as Bucky nudges him to sit up. Stifles a sob as Bucky traces the place where his head was bashed against the wall. Gently, oh so gently, Bucky digs his nails into the wound on his head, the wound that's staining his blonde hair pink.

Steve chokes, tries to breathe, gasps.

"I know, baby," says Bucky, and he's grabbing Steve's hand, tracing the broken fingers with black, black eyes. He's panting along with Steve's ragged breathing.

Steve almost wishes Bucky would just pull Steve's hand, put it down his pants, and--

"I know, it's gonna be okay, hush--"

 

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom on an unusually cold June day, while the sun is still high over the horizon--

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom while a cat meows outside the partially opened--

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom after a long day of work at--

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom on a freezing morning--

Bucky brings the gun into the bedroom--

Bucky brings the gun into--

The bedroom--

Bucky--

The gun is trailing around the rim of Steve's hole and he's crying, shaking, gasping. He's in agony, but the whip's been laid aside, and now it's just this, the white sheets against the welts and the cool metal against his skin. It's Bucky, it's Bucky, it's nothing but Bucky and the gun and Steve's body laid out like he's the god that Bucky worships at the feet of.

"I know, baby," says Bucky soothingly. "Gonna fill you right up, Stevie, gonna hurt you so good, oh baby," They're both breathing hard.

Steve only just manages to swallow a scream as the barrel of the gun pushes past--

 

Steve brings the gun into the bedroom on a warm evening after work. There's still glitter in his hair, and Bucky's on the bed. Naked. Waiting.

It only takes a single shot.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know either.
> 
> Yell at me in the comments, or on my [tumblr!](http://yourblueeyedboys.tumblr.com)


End file.
